ONE WORD Herein I do not sound the depths, nor trace the currents of Irish life, nor show its billows and surges. To abler hands I leave that task. Come, a summer day idler, to this little tale. If, here, you see the shimmer of the sunny waters, and hear the wavelets falling on the shingly shore of our out-of-the-world lives, and if, leaving it, you carry away with you in your heart a little music of minor chords, I shall have achieved the utmost I attempted. |